


Division of Labor

by Karalora



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic, Rampant Speculation, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23052886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karalora/pseuds/Karalora
Summary: Creativity was not the first Side to split...
Comments: 5
Kudos: 45





	Division of Labor

When Thomas Sanders was very small, he got in trouble for hitting his brother, who was even smaller. They had been playing in the living room on a quiet evening, and Thomas saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see little Shea shamble over and start messing with the Spider-Man doll— _his_ Spider-Man doll, that he won fair and square from the crane game in the pizza place while everyone cheered—and so he went over and smacked him. Shea dropped the doll, wailing, and Thomas grabbed it.

Dad saw the whole thing, of course. Oops. And Thomas was made to sit in the time-out chair for four whole minutes in a row and then apologize to Shea, and only then did Dad ask him why.

“That's not a good enough reason to hit someone,” Dad said afterward. “You should _never_ hit. Your mom and I never hit you, even when we're angry, because it's not right. We use the time-out chair instead. Do you understand? It's not right to hit, especially someone smaller than you.”

Thomas did understand. The words _right_ and _wrong_ were frequently said in the Sanders household, so he knew they were important. He picked up the Spider-Man doll and handed it to Shea, who was by that point engrossed in some other toddler activity and simply threw it halfway across the room, but it was the thought that counted.

* * *

The next day, Thomas had kindergarten, which was _the best_ now that he was used to being away from Mom and the house all morning. There were so many other kids his age to play with, and picture books to look at, and toys they didn't even have at home. And twice a week they had Arts and Crafts, which was, like, the best of the best! Thomas could never keep the grin off his face when the teacher opened the big cabinet and brought out the stacks of paper and six big jugs of finger paint with the pump spigots.

“Today we're going to do something special,” the teacher said. “We're going to learn how to mix colors with paint! I know you can all name these colors...” And she pointed to each of the six jugs in turn, and the children dutifully named the colors with one voice:

“Red! Blue! Green! Yellow! White! Black!”

“But what if we want more colors than that? What if we want orange? Or purple? Or brown? How would we get them?”

Something went _ping!_ in Thomas's head, and he raised his hand so fast that he felt his shoulder pop a little.

“Yes, Thomas?”

“Red and yellow make _orange_!” Thomas said breathlessly.

“That's right!” said the teacher. “Good job, Thomas! Everyone take a little bit of red and a little bit of yellow and mix it on your paper!”

Now something in Thomas's head went _whummmmmm_ , because the teacher had just used the same word Dad had used the previous evening.

 _Right_...

Hitting Shea wasn't right. “Red and yellow make orange” _was_ right. But the two...weren't the same, were they? It wasn't _bad_ to mix other paints, trying to get orange. It just wouldn't work. And while hitting Shea had certainly worked to get Spider-Man away from him, it made Dad angry...it made _Shea_ angry, for that matter, and even the memory of it made Thomas feel bad. It was mean.

Thomas had a lot to learn about _right_ and _wrong_. What they actually _meant_ , for starters.

* * *

_Whummmmmmm_...

In the depths of Thomas Sanders's mind, _someone_ coalesced from the swirls of thought and emotion. He didn't have a defined form just yet, but if an image is required, use this: a boy just Thomas's age, and looking much like Thomas, even wearing the same royal blue overalls over a charcoal gray tee-shirt that Thomas wore that day, but with the important addition of glasses.

Dad wore glasses. So did the teacher. And so, in time, would this fellow, because as of this moment, the moment of his emergence, all he had was his mission: to guide Thomas in the role of both Dad _and_ the teacher. All he knew was his purpose, which was to know _everything else_ , everything he could find out, so that Thomas could be _right_ as much as possible, so that he could say the right things and do the right things.

It was going to require a great deal of thought, so let's call him Thoughtful. Just for now.

As far as he could tell, he was alone. That too would change, and soon.

* * *

The general consensus was that Thoughtful was the leader—after all, he was made of _grown-ups_. He wanted to be a good leader, since that was Right, but he had a problem.

There wasn't much to be the leader _of_.

It was mostly just him and Pretend, and things were awkward. Thoughtful liked Pretend—he was good company, most of the time—but he didn't _get_ Pretend. Their worlds were so different!

Thoughtful's world was the real world, with real people and their feelings, and real things, and it was reasonably predictable. If Thomas did _this_ , then _that_ would happen. If he did _this_ again, _that_ should happen again...and if some other thing happened instead, it was probably a sign that the _this_ wasn't quite the same the second time around.

Pretend's world was...everything _but_ the real world, it seemed. Pretend _made things up_. He made up songs sometimes, and those were nice. He made up nicknames for people, and Thoughtful liked those quite a lot, because they usually played with the sounds of words and that made them funny. Pretend also made up stories, and that was where Thoughtful got confused, because telling a story was _sort of like_ explaining something that happened, but the things in the story weren't real. Sometimes they were impossible, and those were Pretend's favorite kind of stories. Thoughtful knew that hitting people was Wrong, but Pretend could make up a story where hitting someone not only wasn't Wrong, it was actually Right, because the one you were hitting was a monster and you were hitting it with a magic sword, and that was the only way to save the villagers.

Thoughtful could agree that, all right, _if_ the only way to save the villagers was to hit a monster with a magic sword, then that would be Right. But that was also the sort of thing that could never ever _actually_ happen.

But Pretend's way of telling stories was better than _some_ mind-people's. For example, there was Worry, who also made up monsters but forgot to include the magic sword. And there was Sneaky, who made up all kinds of things _and said that they weren't made up_ , which offended Thoughtful so much that he could hardly stand it. Sneaky tried to make Thomas lie to other people, which would make him a bad person, and even worse, he tried to make Thomas lie to himself, which would make him a _stupid_ person. No, Thoughtful didn't like Sneaky one bit, and as the leader, he made Sneaky mostly stay in the shadows around the edges of Thomas's mind. Worry hung out there a lot of the time too.

So it was mostly just him and Pretend, but maybe that was for the best. Thoughtful had a lot to do for Thomas as it was, without also having to do leader things all the time. He was busy, busy, busy all morning at kindergarten, helping Thomas learn his ABC's and how to count numbers (up to 50, and then 100! The teacher was very impressed) and how to share the LEGOs. He was busy after kindergarten too, helping Thomas behave for Mom while she ran errands—and that was hard sometimes, because the store was boring and he couldn't carry more than one or two toys and Shea always got the seat in the shopping basket because he was so little. Thoughtful was even busy on Sunday, helping Thomas learn the Ten Commandments and why they were important, and other things like that.

Sometimes he thought he might be _too_ busy. But there was only one of him, so he figured he was stuck with it.

* * *

Time passed, as time is wont to do.

* * *

“Whatcha drawing there, kiddo?” asked Dad.

“It's my superhero, Splitman!” Thomas explained, holding up the crayoned paper.

“Oh yeah? What does he do?”

“He can split in two and fight two crimes at once! But each half only gets half his powers, so like if there's a plane crash and a bank robbery at the same time, he can be one guy who can fly and be super-strong, and another guy who can zap people with lightning and doesn't get hurt by bullets, and fix both things.”

“Wow! How creative! I bet he'll have all kinds of adventures!” Dad ruffled Thomas's hair and continued to the garage.

_How...what?_

“Get the dictionary, Thomas,” said Thoughtful. That was always the first place to look for new words, to see what they meant. “No, not K...it sounds like _create_ , so it's probably in the C-words.”

“Did you _hear_ that?” Pretend bubbled. “Dad likes Splitman! I bet _everyone_ will like Splitman! We're gonna sell comic books and make a million dollars and be famous!”

Thoughtful found that unlikely, but didn't contradict him. Instead he said: “But maybe Splitman shouldn't zap bad guys with lightning. They could die, and a good guy should catch the bad guys alive so the police can take them to jail.”

Pretend pulled a face, but it was his “considering” face, not an unhappy one. “Maybe. What if he _freezes_ the bad guys instead? Not in ice, but just, like, they can't move?”

Thomas found the word he was looking for and skimmed its definition. Then he read it more carefully, tracing the bigger words with his fingertip in order to sound them out syllable by syllable. Yeah, that made sense based on what Dad had said. Almost involuntarily, his gaze fell upon the next two words in the book— _creatively_ and _creativity_ , and he read their definitions as well, even though he had a pretty good idea of what they would mean.

“That's me!” Pretend said. “I'm changing my name! I'm Creativity now!”

Thoughtful frowned. “You can't just change your name.”

“Says who? I picked my name in the first place and I can change it if I want. Besides, we're not five anymore and I can do way more than just _pretend_. Drawing pictures isn't _pretending_ , it's _creative_!” He flopped down on the sofa and wiggled around until he was hanging his head upside-down over the cushion. “You could change your name too. I bet you're more than just Thoughtful by now.”

 _More?_ Thoughtful recoiled from the very notion. If anything, he wished he could be a little _less—_ Thomas was learning new things every day and it was so much to keep track of! If only someone else would show up in the mindscape to help take the slack! But Thomas was seven now, and there were about as many of them as there were going to be unless something drastic happened: Thoughtful himself, and Pre...Creativity, and Worry, and Sneaky, and one or two other shadow-lurkers.

He wondered what might happen if he did change his name. Creativity had changed his because _he_ was changing and the old one didn't fit anymore. But was it possible for that to work the other way around? Could Thoughtful become less by naming himself something less? If so, what would happen to the other parts? Would someone else show up to be those, or would Thomas lose that part of himself?

Better not risk it. But maybe he could test the idea—change his name just a little, and see if his purpose changed at all, and also see what else happened. Then he would know if it was safe to go further.

Just a small, simple change...

And maybe he could improve the grammar while he was at it.

* * *

More time passed.

* * *

“ _Now_ what?” Thoughtfulness snapped. “I don't have time for this! I need to help Thomas study for his science test!”

“That is exactly my point,” said Dishonesty with a smug smile while Anxiety fumed. “Thomas doesn't _need_ to study for the test. He knows everything that's going to be on it. He can draw more pictures instead.”

“What if Mom and Dad come in and catch him not studying?” Anxiety pointed out. “He'll get in trouble!”

“It will be _fine_ , Anxiety. “He can keep the science book next to him and pick it up if he hears anyone coming. Then we'll all be happy.”

“I won't! What if—what if Ms. Feldman put something on the test that Thoughtfulness doesn't remember? Thomas needs to study for real so he isn't caught off guard!”

“But studying is no fuuuuuunnnnn!” Creativity lamented. “And I have this great idea for a picture! Where the knight is killing the dragon and there's all this blood coming out and it's wilting the flowers and there are unicorns crying and _—_ ”

“ENOUGH!” Thoughtfulness barked. “Mom and Dad told Thomas to study for the test, and that's what we're going to do! Creativity, your picture will have to wait! And I don't like some of the things you've been imagining lately! All this blood and guts...Thomas is a good kid, and he needs to stay that way!”

“He won't be a kid forever,” Creativity sulked. “Only babies are afraid of a little blood.”

“I'm surprised you're taking _Anxiety's_ side, of all things,” Dishonesty said. “Not what I would expect after what happened between you two yesterday.”

“Anxiety was _wrong_ yesterday,” Thoughtfulness said, causing Anxiety to flinch a little. “Nothing bad was going to happen to Thomas just for asking the lady in the store where the pens and pencils were.”

“...it might've...” Anxiety mumbled.

“I'm just saying that you're not being very consistent,” Dishonesty said.

“ _Enough_ , Dishonesty. Go away. In fact, all of you, go to your rooms. Thomas needs to concentrate.”

 _And so do I_ , he didn't add. Maybe it was Dishonesty's lingering presence that prompted that little lie of omission, but...whatever. Disputes like these were becoming more common, and Thoughtfulness was finding both his patience and his problem-solving abilities taxed to their limits... _on top of which_ he was still responsible for everything he had always done for Thomas.

_I can't keep doing this. It's too much for one Side to handle...but what can I do?_

* * *

Later that night, while Thomas slept, as Thoughtfulness sorted through the memories he had accumulated during the day, deciding what to keep long-term and what to chuck into the Subconscious, he found himself with company.

“Hi, Thoughtfulness...” Creativity said, singsong.

Thoughtfulness made a non-committal noise; he was focusing on his task.

“I've been thinking about what you said earlier, about my darker ideas?”

“Oh? And...?”

“And...” Creativity took a deep breath. “...you can keep your big mouth shut about it! Thomas's imagination is _my_ job, not yours!”

Thoughtfulness was so shocked that he dropped the memory he was holding into the “keep” bin without looking at it. (It was just the shape of a stain on page 76 of Thomas's science textbook, so no real harm done, but sloppiness always bothered him.) “How _dare_ you!” he retorted.

“You're always saying you have too much to do!” Creativity pointed out. “Well, here's something you can _stop_ doing! Quit trying to control me! Because I'm busy too, and if you have to check everything I do to make sure it meets your 'standards,' neither of us will ever get any rest! Do you want to see all the ideas I had today?”

“Of course I _—_ ”

“ _Here they are! Have fun!_ ” Creativity manifested a stack of paper the size of a phone book, dropped it at Thoughtfulness's feet, and sank out.

Thoughtfulness steeled himself and resolved not to look at the ideas until he was done sorting the memories, but he found himself on the brink of tears. “Too much...” he muttered under his breath, “ _too much..._ ”

He didn't _have_ to go through all the ideas. But if he didn't, he would just be letting the increasingly erratic Creativity _win_. He needed to keep things under control, to make sure Thomas remained good and sensible.

He glanced at the top of the pile. It bore a single line of written text: “Make up a song for Aunt Patty's birthday.” That seemed harmless enough. Thoughtfulness dropped the last few trivial memories into the “Subconscious” bin and turned his attention to Creativity's work.

The second idea was radically different from the first: “Make fart noises when Jimmy Zarnecki gives his book report.” Thoughtfulness tore that one up—he didn't like Jimmy Zarnecki any more than Creativity did, but being disruptive in class was a big no-no.

The third one took up half a dozen pages. Thoughtfulness stared at the top drawing for a moment before he recognized the figure portrayed. “Splitman...” he said. “We haven't thought about Splitman in over a year. I wonder...”

Creativity had redesigned the hero's costume with a column of interesting symbols down the middle of his torso. And as Thoughtfulness went through the other pages, he realized what they meant. Each one stood for one of Splitman's powers, and the papers were covered with drawings showing how he could divide himself into different complementary pairs to accomplish various tasks, with the symbols divvied up between the halves of each pair.

Thoughtfulness couldn't speak for the merit of the idea itself, but he _thoroughly_ approved of the organization. And it got him...well, _thinking_...

 _Could_ he split in two? He had always brushed off the idea of it even being possible, but he realized that he had always framed it in terms of _duplicating_ himself. When he contemplated something more like Splitman, it seemed oddly plausible. The rules inside Thomas's mind weren't the same as the rules outside it. They could shapeshift, materialize and dematerialize objects, even teleport. They _had_ superpowers. What was one more?

He manifested a new, blank sheet of paper and a freshly sharpened pencil and began making two lists.

* * *

_Okay, time to try this thing..._

_Focus on just_ half _of my job...focus on just the/h/ot/a/the/l/r/f/half_

 _I don't have to be in charge of_ all _of Thomas's insights, just the rat/emot/ion/al ones._

_Which half will get the glasses?_

_NO! I was getting somewhere! Okay, try again and_ focus _..._

_Just take one big step to the righ/lef/t._

_Concentrate on being object/subject/ive._

_Y/w/I/e/ou can do this._

_Help Thomas know what's R/R/ig/igh/ht!—_

**SPLIT**

* * *

Creativity rose up in the commons and did a double-take. “You changed your look. The lighter blue looks good.”

“You don't know the _half_ of it!” the other Side said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I guess you also changed your attitude.”

“Not exactly. Uh...Logic? Can you come here a sec?”

“Who's Log—ah!”

A second bespectacled figure had risen up beside the first. “Will this take long? I was helping Thomas devise a mnemonic for his science test...oh. I see.”

Creativity had taken several steps back. His eyes darted rapidly between the two of them. “Wait...wait...which one of you is Thoughtfulness and which one is new, and _who are you_?”

“It's a little complicated,” the one in the light blue overalls said a little sheepishly.

“It may very well be accurate to say that we are both new...but also that we are both Thoughtfulness,” said the other, who was dressed in a crisp black polo shirt and dark blue-violet slacks. He adjusted his glasses as he spoke. “The workload had become untenable and so I...we...he...Thoughtfulness divided into two, in order to specialize for greater efficiency.”

“ _Divided in two?_ You—we—can _do_ that?”

“It sure looks that way, doesn't it, kiddo?”

“Going forward, I will handle Thomas's logical thinking and intellectual learning, whereas Morality here will be responsible for his emotional intelligence and moral judgments.”

“Hey!” said Morality. “ _Morality_ was my _father_...you can just call me Dad!”

Creativity grimaced. “That doesn't make _any_ sense.”

“Yyyes...I seem to have received all the sense in the equation,” said Logic. “It was largely by design.”

“Why didn't you tell me you were planning to do this?” said Creativity.

“Because we did not exist until it was done,” said Logic. “Lacking existence, we had no ability to tell you.”

“Oh yeah, you'll have to get used to that,” said Morality. “Logic tends to take things literally. Anyway, Creativity, it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision when Thoughtfulness saw your new pictures of Splitman. He made a list of everything he does, sorted it into _two_ lists, and then...willed himself into two parts. And now here we are!”

“So Thoughtfulness is...gone?”

“Not precisely.”

“Everything about him is still _here_ , kiddo, it's just not...all together. But this is really for the best. We'll be able to help Thomas a lot better now that there's two of us. And we'll fight with you less since we'll be less stressed out.”

“So...which one of you is the leader?”

Logic and Morality traded a glance. There was an eerie synchrony to their movements, as if they weren't _quite_ completely separate. “We can work that out a little later,” said Morality. “And Anxiety and Dishonesty should be there too. This concerns everyone.”

“Are we done for now?” asked Logic. “Thomas needs me.” Without even waiting for an answer, he sank back out.

“He seems nice,” Creativity muttered, his voice brimming with sarcasm.

Morality sighed. “We'll work on that. And...Creativity?”

“Hmm?”

“Since it's just you and me right now, we need to have us a little talk about some of your ideas...”

* * *

_Author's Notes: I wrote this to explore a little idea I had about Logan and Patton having been one at some point. It can't have escaped anyone's notice that their logos match—just as Roman's and Remus's do._

_Thomas is five in the first part of the story, seven in the middle part, and about nine in the last part._

_My headcanon regarding OG Creativity is that he started out mostly like Roman is today. But as Thomas got older and picked up influences from various less wholesome sources, he started indulging in more violent fantasies, gross-out humor, etc., until Thomas (via Patton and probably Virgil) was horrified enough to lock all that stuff away, resulting in the creation of Remus. That's not, by the way, what's about to happen at the end of the story. It's not that bad yet. Morality is going to try to talk Creativity around first._


End file.
